mother's day

sit down. we have our
most darling dresses on
at this white cloth napkin
restaurant.

skip the entrees. we’re
ordering appetizers. a
salad on the side. we tell
our family we’re simply
craving oysters rockefeller
and french onion soup.

we have this smile, my
sister and i, when we’re
in on a secret together.
she flashes it at me from
across

the table. celebrate,
celebrate. kiss, kiss. hug,
hug. tell mom we love her
(enough to go to a restaurant where everything is

drowning in cream sauce).
wave goodbye! giggle as
we drive to our hallowed
belfry

of limp lettuce and fleeting
nacho fries. behold the bean
and cheese burrito with
droplets of medium hot sauce

i scarf down in the back
of my sister’s car.
forgive me mother for i
could not resist the toll
of the bell—


Alicia Winokur is a graduate of Mount Holyoke college and currently lives in Boston with her very noisy cat. Her work has previously appeared in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Hobart, and Crab Fat Magazine. She had her first taste of Taco Bell at 24.

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